


Questions of Science and Progress

by allfireburns



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dancing, Drabble Sequence, Episode Related, F/M, Grief, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfireburns/pseuds/allfireburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things you don't say, the things you can't say, and the things you won't admit...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions of Science and Progress

**i. maybe i won't (die alone)**  
Tosh doesn't keep the flowers on her desk, because she knows what that would get her. Sympathetic looks from Gwen, knowing glances from Ianto, and eye rolls or pitying looks or utter obliviousness from Owen. None of which she wants, naturally.  
She does take them home, keep them on her table, smiles a little to herself when she comes home to them, rereads the note every now and then. She doesn't care about the words anymore, doesn't care that no one (least of all Owen) knows where they came from, and doesn't even really care when the flowers die and she has to throw them out.  
What she cars about is that the handwriting, the sharp angles and capital letters, the S's morphed into Z's for no reason she could ever understand, is unmistakably Owen's.

**ii. baby it's fact**  
Tosh has learned not to pay too much attention to Owen's words. Oh, she pays attention to the things he _says_, but not the words themselves, because they're inevitably made up of shades of truth and sarcasm and God knows what else.  
_"Look, one date, see how it goes, which might be nowhere."_  
What she does pay attention to aren't the words at all. The tone, the expressions, the body language and the little half-smile, though... _Those_ are important.  
_"And I'm going to keep flirting with people, okay?"_  
It's about as easy as deciphering an alien language, without the benefit of computer programs to parse it out for her, but she thinks she's got it sorted out now. And the meaning beneath the words this time has her heart feeling like it's about to burst, and she only just manages to keep her reaction to a smile, the occasional glance at Owen out of the corner of her eye, and pretend she hasn't been waiting for this for years.

**iii. almost lovers always do**  
She's stopped crying. It's less that she doesn't want to cry anymore than that she's run out of tears, or that there's been a wall thrown up somewhere, holding it all back, while the tears build up behind it like a dam. It's going to break eventually. She's going to start crying again. But for now she's just sitting here, at the edge of the autopsy room, curled into herself and staring at Owen's body.  
Gwen's hovering nearby, like she's not certain whether to hug her or leave her alone. Ianto and Martha won't look at her, and none of them will say a word while they sit here, waiting for Jack to return. The silence settles over the group of them like a funeral shroud, suffocating, but Tosh couldn't breathe anyway.  
It seems like his first day was just yesterday, all awkward and fumbling and nearly getting himself killed at least twice that day, and now he's lying there on his own autopsy table, and his blood's on her hands.

**iv. all the dreams you have left**  
When someone dies, you're supposed to grieve. It's impossible to do that when he's standing in front of her, thought, with the same sarcastic comments and the same smiles (less frequent now) and the same idiotic bravery.  
But when he kisses her, he's cold. His skin doesn't feel quite right against hers, and there's no breath against her face when he pulls away. She's not supposed to want this.  
Then again, Owen always did make her head spin, make her want to laugh and cry and scream all at once. Why should now be any different?

**v. and instructions for dancing**  
"So, Tosh," Owen says with a grin, spinning her lightly in a circle before pulling her back to him. "Caught the bouquet. Something you want to tell me?"  
Tosh laughs a little and smacks him lightly in the chest. His hand's icy around hers, but she's convinced herself she doesn't care, not while they're dancing. "When something comes flying at your face, you try not to catch it."  
"I'm just saying-"  
"Are you ever going to let me live that down?"  
"Doubtful. So have you got anyone in mind?"  
Her expression flickers. _It would sound like a joke. Until death do we part..._  
She shakes her head, managing an insincere smile. "No."

**vi. someone's gonna save us**  
It's all Tosh can do not to sob at the pain as they make their way back into the city, all crowded together in Rhys' and Gwen's car. The ribs aren't so bad, unless she breathes too sharply, but every time they go over a bump it jars her arm, and she's left biting her lip, fighting back whimpers of pain.  
Owen notices anyway, and starts rummaging through the inside pockets of his jackets - no easy task in the crowded car, and he comes perilously close to elbowing her in the ribs a tie or two, but he finally pulls out a needle. "Aren't you lucky this didn't break?" Which leaves the question of why he's carrying it around - but then again, it's Torchwood, and he must have learned by now that a med kit is not always available.  
Owen brushes the hair back from her neck, and she flinches a little as the needle slides in. "Industrial-strength painkillers. Best I can do for you now without knocking you out."  
"Thank you," she murmurs, and it still seems too loud in the much too quiet car. Wordlessly, Owen pulls her to him, and she leans toward him without thought, resting her head against his shoulder. Odds seem good the world might end tonight - she's gotten very good at protecting that. And if that's the case, she is going to have this moment before it does.

**vii. as the earth melts**  
He can't tell her he loves her, even knowing it's what she wants to hear. Even as the words crawl their way up his throat and lodge there, making his throat feel tight, like just before you start to cry, when you're still trying to hold back the tears, except that he can't cry anymore. He'd sob the words if he could, shout them, because they're true, so true, and the last thing to really matter just now.  
To tell her he loves her _now_ would be an act of cruelty, to make her live with that.  
He can't say the words.  
But then, she can't tell him she's dying, so in the end, they're even.

**viii. coda (let's go back to the start)**  
Travel always exhausted Tosh, and while the hours-long train ride from London to Cardiff wasn't horrible, it never failed to leave her just a little groggy. Straight off the train and back to the Hub, where Jack grilled her for (literally) hours - not about the "alien", but about the Doctor - left her wanting to go home and just collapse into bed. But she'd never gone home early even one day since she started at Torchwood, so she trudged from Jack's office to her desk, and half fell into her chair, staring blankly at the computer screens for a minute.  
She'd have jumped at the gentle hand settling on her shoulder if she weren't so tired. As it was, she just looked up, slowly, and smiled vaguely when she saw him standing behind her. "Owen."  
"I just... wanted to thank you. You didn't have to do that."  
She managed a vague smile. "It's fine. You're still new; you deserve a break every now and then."  
"No, seriously..." he hesitated, fumbling for words, and after a second or two leaned in to kiss her cheek. "I owe you one, babe."  
Another momentary, awkward pause, and he turned away, moving quickly back to his desk. Tosh turned back to her own desk, trying to tell herself her head was just spinning from exhaustion, nothing more.


End file.
